


Double trouble

by MissSlothy



Series: Double Trouble [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Comfort, Hurt, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-30 00:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16275464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSlothy/pseuds/MissSlothy
Summary: A flu-epidemic sweeps through HPD.Written for Comfort-Fest 2018.





	Double trouble

**Author's Note:**

> My medical knowledge is minimal. I just like Steve worrying about Danny and Danny worrying about Steve :)
> 
> For the purpose of this story I’ve assumed Junior no longer lives with Steve.
> 
> UK English. Un-betaed.

Steve McGarrett’s negotiated with terrorists in Iraq and bargained with tribal chiefs in Afghanistan.  There was one memorable incident in Pakistan that involved a game of strip poker as a diversionary tactic to release diplomatic hostages.  But none of that has prepared him for bargaining with a sick Danny Williams.

“Come on Danny.  You need to drink something.”

Steve walks the two steps to the end of the bed.  Turning, he retraces them.  Placing his hands on his hips he studies the lump under the duvet that is his partner. 

“Soup?  Juice?  Charlie’s fruit juice with the bits in it?  You know you love that.”  Steve squints: the blinds are pulled, bathing Danny’s bedroom in a dark blue half-light.  It’s possible the duvet just shifted.  In the absence of any other response he’s willing to take that as a yes.  “Juice it is.”

The lump under the duvet starts moving.  It’s a slow shuffle, like a bear reluctantly coming out of hibernation.  Danny’s hair appears first, a messy blonde riot.  His face follows.  Flushed with fever, he blinks against the sudden exposure to light.  His lips are dry and cracked.  He licks them, winces.  Trying to clear his throat causes an equally painful response.   Groaning, he burrows into the pillows.  “No juice.”

Steve rubs the spot between his eyebrows with his thumb.  He’s got one of hell of headache building up.  “If you don’t drink, you’re going to dehydrate.”

Danny pulls the duvet back up so only his eyes and hair are showing over the top.  “Don’t care.”

Steve lowers himself down, to sit on the edge of the bed.  Catching his breath against the aching twinge in his joints, he studies his friend.  Danny’s eyes are bloodshot, exhausted.  He hasn’t slept properly the last couple of days.  He’s not due more aspirin for a few hours but the last dose hadn’t stayed down for long.

Steve makes a rapid calculation, comes to a decision.  Resting his hand where he thinks Danny’s shoulder is, he squeezes gently.   “Come on, buddy.  I know you feel like shit.  But if you don’t drink—”

“Gonna puke.”

Steve whips his hand back.  “Now?”

Danny rolls his eyes, or he would be if they weren’t half closed.  “The juice,” he explains, slowly, “it’ll make me puke.”

Steve glances down at the now-empty bucket on the floor by the bed.  Flu sucks.  He rests his hand back on Danny’s shoulder.  Rubbing said shoulder soothingly seems like the right thing to do.  When Danny sighs and rolls into his touch he turns the motion into small circles.  His arm’s aching after a few minutes but it seems to be working: Danny’s body is gradually unfurling from its pained, clenched knot.  The duvet slides down  a couple more inches: Danny’s nose and mouth come into view.

Steve rests his hand for a moment before removing it.  Then he retrieves a thermometer from the bedside table.  Waving it in front of Danny’s face gets him another pseudo eye-roll but Danny opens his mouth anyway. Looking at his watch, Steve silently starts counting off the seconds.

“Y’ ‘ook ‘ike ‘it,” Danny mumbles around the thermometer.

Steve glances up and away again.  “Ssh.  I’m counting.”

“S’eve.”

 _Damn._ He shakes his head as he looses count.  Even the simplest tasks seem to be beating him today.  He hasn’t felt this sluggish since after the transplant.  Danny’s frowning at him, he realises, his tired eyes full of worry.  Without thinking, he reaches out, touching Danny’s forehead with the back of his hand.  Danny’s skin still feels overly warm but so much better than the day before.  Something inside Steve’s chest loosens.  A wave of relief makes him sag.

“Babe?”  Danny’s released a hand from the pile of duvet.  It’s holding the thermometer.

Steve goes to take it; Danny grabs his hand before he can pull away.  When Danny tugs him down into his orbit he doesn’t resist: Danny has a strong grip for someone who was running a temperature of 102 the day before.  Too late Steve sees the trap.  He flinches as Danny’s fingers rest on his cheek, sliding down to cup his jaw. 

“You’re hot.”

Steve pulls away, takes the thermometer.  “I’m fine,” he says forgoing the chance for a reply laced with innuendo and going for a basic distraction technique instead.  “101,” he reports, showing Danny the reading.  “Couple more aspirin and let’s see if we can get that down some more.”

For a second he thinks he’s got away with it.  He grabs the aspirin and a nearly empty glass of water from the bedside table.  When he turns back again his heart sinks.  Early on in their partnership he’d realised Danny had a look – part fond, lots worried – that had the power to stop him in his tracks and make him do whatever Danny wanted. 

Danny’s wearing that look now.  “Get some sleep.  Grace’s bed is made-up—”

Steve gets to his feet, cutting him off.  His spine cracks, muscles twinging.  He grabs the glass.  “I’ll get you some water to go with those pills.”

“Steve.”

“Who’s gonna check you’re not getting into trouble if I’m not here?  Huh?”

“I’m good—”

“You gonna drink this water if I get it for you?”

Danny’s lips purse together.  He’s still wearing _that_ look.  Steve’s heart somersaults.  Then Danny sighs, rolling back onto his side.  Grabbing the duvet, he burrows back down.

Steve opens his mouth to say something then closes it again.  Danny’s right, he could do with some rest.  His joints are aching like they belong to someone who’s thirty years older.  They’re in the middle of a Hawaiian summer but chills are skittering across his skin.  First though, he needs to get Danny comfortable. Glass in hand, he heads for the door.

“Tea.”

Steve pauses.  “What?”

Danny’s peering over the top of the duvet.  “Green tea.”

“Tea?”

“You said I gotta drink some—"

Steve shakes his head, regretting it instantly as the world tilts slightly.  “You _hate_ tea.”

Danny’s wearing a different expression this time but Steve can still read it just fine.  It says ‘Now _you want to argue with me, you schmuck?’_

He raises a hand in surrender.  “Fine.  Tea.”

He hovers while Danny huffs and gets comfortable again.  Then he heads for the kitchen.  Getting the water on to boil takes more energy than it should.  Peering in the pan, he wills the water to start bubbling.  It stubbornly stays still.

Finding a mug to put the tea in is easy.  Finding the green tea, not so much.  It’s obvious that Danny doesn’t drink it often: the box at the back of the cupboard is almost out of date.  He considers making something else then dismisses it.  The aim is to get Danny to drink something, _anything._ Vomiting and dehydration are the enemy, they can turn a simple case of flu into something much more serious.

Exhaling slowly, he shivers.  Then he shivers again.  A particularly deep ache in his left hip makes him wince.  Wrapping his arms around his chest, he glares at the water.  Gradually the pan goes out of focus, his vision blurring at the edges.  Against his will, his eyes drift closed.

Everything spins.  Nausea threatens.  Snapping his eyes open he catches himself just in time, a hand shooting out to grab the worktop.  He stays put for a minute, drags in oxygen.

_Damn._

A quick glance tells him the water is finally doing something – slowly.  Pulling out a stool, he drops down with a groan. He’s going to need a couple of Danny’s aspirin.  And probably Grace’s bed.   As if proving the point a yawn creeps up on him, rapidly followed by a wave of tiredness.  _Tea,_ he reminds himself.  _He’s gotta make Danny’s tea._

Reaching over the worktop he switches on the radio.  The too-quiet kitchen fills with the sound of a news station.  Huddling back down on the stool, he waits for the water to boil.

H50H5050H50

Tani pulls up outside Danny’s house and puts the car into park.  Beside her, Junior takes off his seat belt and opens the door.

“You coming?” he asks, frowning as he takes in her lack of movement, the way she’s still got the car keys in her hand. 

Sighing, she stares through the windscreen, studying Danny’s house.  It’s not that she doesn’t want to help Danny and Steve, God knows that’s not true.  She’d do anything to help the guys.  It’s just… _damn it_.  Even thinking about it makes her feel nauseous.

“Tani?  You okay?”

Junior’s leaning back in, so close she can feel his breath.  “It’s alright,” she lies, a desperate last-ditch attempt to deflect.  A glance at Junior tells her she’s wasting her time.  “Fine,” she blurts out, ripping the virtual band aid off and going for it.  “I can’t watch people throwing up, okay? Or even hear them. It just makes me…”  She waves a hand over her stomach.  Swallowing hard, she wills her stomach to stop rolling.

“Hey.  Hey.”  Junior’s voice is so quiet, so understanding, it makes her eyes prickle with emotion.  “It happens to lots of people.  There were guys in the SEALs who turned green at the smell…” He trails off as she grimaces.  His voice drops another notch as he flashes her a reassuring smile.  “We’re just going in to see if they need anything.  That’s all.”

Tani nods, stuffs the keys in her pocket.  Annoyed with herself she takes a couple of deep breaths.  This isn’t _her._ Resting her face in her hands she exhales slowly.  When she looks up again, Junior’s still watching her.  The mask of calm strength he always wears is missing.  In its place is compassion and concern.

“Sorry,” she says, managing a weak smile.  “It’s just…” She meets his eyes, acknowledges the strong bond she already has with this man who she’s known for a relatively short time.  “I…I hate being sick…being alone…I don’t do well with—”

His hand on hers stops her.  “You wouldn’t be on your own,” he promises.  And she believes him.  Absolutely.  She blinks as the knowledge sinks in.  He ducks away before she can reply. “Come on,” he says, flashing her an encouraging smile as he gets out of the car.  “Let’s check they haven’t killed each other yet.”

She’s nodding to herself as she follows him to the house.   Steve had sounded tired and frustrated when she’d spoken to him on the phone the night before.  Despite that he’d turned down all offers of help. 

There’s no answer when they knock on the door.  It’s open when they try it.  Calling out as they go in doesn’t get a response either.  Frowning, they share a glance.  The only sound is the radio coming from the kitchen.  In silent agreement, they head towards it:

_‘In breaking news, the Governor has called an emergency meeting of government agencies as a virulent form of influenza sweeps across the islands.  The Navy has mobilised troops to support the Honolulu Police Department where one in three police officers are sick…”_

They both see Steve at the same time.  Slumped over, his forehead is resting on the worktop.  His body’s tilted, barely balancing on the stool.  Tani rushes over to check him but Junior’s there first, stopping her with a raised hand. 

He eases himself in beside Steve.  Leaning down, he studies him, one hand hovering over his back.  “Commander?  Sir?”

Steve’s body jerks, like it’s been given an electric shock.  His eyes fly open.  “What happ—”

Junior grabs him as he overbalances on the stool.  “Whoa.  Easy.  Easy.”

Tani slides in the other side, getting her shoulder under Steve’s arm.  Instantly she can feel the heat radiating off his skin.  “Junior…”

Junior’s wearing the same worried look as her.  “Yeah.  I know.” 

Grunting, she takes more of Steve’s weight.  “He needs to be in a bed.”

Junior nods but makes no attempt to move.  “Give ‘im a minute,” he advises, studying Steve’s face again.  “It’ll be easier if he can walk.”

She considers asking what the options are if Steve can’t walk.  A glance at Junior gives her the answer.  Junior might be shorter than Steve but he easily matches him in strength.

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, trying to shift out of their grip.

Tani glares over at Junior, daring him to agree.  Then she turns her attention back to Steve.  “No. You’re not,” she tells him, bracing herself as he rocks forward on the stool, attempting to get up.  “You’re going to bed.”

Steve stops, staring at the worktop.  She’s on the verge of nudging him when he turns and looks at her.  His face is drawn, dark circles under his eyes hinting at his exhaustion.  Worry worms its way down her spine.  But despite the fevered flush on Steve cheeks, there’s still determination in his eyes.  “Tea,” he says, wobbling to his feet.  “Danny wants tea.”

 _Danny.  How had they forgotten about Danny?_   The same thought is crossing Junior’s mind, she can see it in the way his eyes have widened in horrified surprise.  Before she can say anything, Steve takes charge of the situation.  Using the worktop as support he weaves towards the door.

Junior’s right behind.  He shrugs as she catches his eye.  It’s difficult to tell whether Steve knows what he’s talking about.  On the positive side, he is actually heading in the right direction for the bedrooms. 

Tani’s about to follow when something else grabs her attention.  It’s the smell of warm metal, slightly acidic like it’s starting to burn.  Spotting the pan on the hob she curses out loud: it’s just about to burn dry.  Grabbing the handle causes her to curse again.  Finding a dishcloth she picks the pan up and dumps it in the sink.  It hisses angrily, steam spiralling upwards.  Glancing around again reveals a mug and a battered box of tea that’s obviously seen better days.

Steve _was_ making tea. 

She stifles the giggle that’s trying to escape.  It’s relief.  Puffing out her cheeks, she breathes out slowly.  Steve’s the one who’s always in control of all his senses: she relies on him to be that guy.  Seeing him so vulnerable, knowing he doesn’t accept comfort easily, it makes her feel uneasy.

The memory of sitting outside her house with Steve and Eddie pops into her minds-eye.  Steve would have known - would have _understood_ \- how much she’d wanted to be alone back then, to work through things on her own.  But still he came.

Finding another pan, she fills it up with water and sets it on the hob.  Retrieving another mug, she puts tea in both.  Another hunt through the cupboards reveals crackers, chips, soup and juice in the fridge.  She’s just about to go and find Junior when he appears in the doorway.

“He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow,” he says before she can ask.

“Danny?”

“He’s out cold too.”

She frowns, waving her hand over the food she’s found.  “Shouldn’t they eat something? Or maybe a drink?”

Junior steps up beside her, tucks his hands in his pockets.  “I managed to get Steve to take some aspirin.  They’ll be okay for an hour or so.  Really,” he adds, taking in her doubtful expression.  “I’ve seen worse.”

Tani snorts with laughter, despite her worry.  Sometimes she forgets Junior was in the SEAL teams.  He cares about things so damn much.  Then he comes out with comments like that and suddenly the hardened Navy man is standing in front of her again.

He ducks his head in a way that’s becoming very familiar to her.  He’s easy to embarrass; it’s another one of the things she loves about him. 

Taking pity on him she gives him a friendly nudge. The nudge he gives back ignites a warm glow in her chest.  Standing side by side, they survey the food stash.  A comfortable silence falls over them.

“Pretty sure Danny’s got Netflix,” Junior says a moment later.  He shuffles, bringing him an inch closer.

Tani wills her hand not to shake as she claims the chips and juice.  “Movie night?” She flashes him a bright grin.  “Sure.  Why not.”

H50H50H50

Danny wakes up slowly.  Everything feels right; comforting, reassuring.  But still, something’s…off.  The last few tendrils of sleep have still got a hold on him however; for a while he just floats.  Eventually his senses kick in, reaching out beyond the comfortable cocoon his consciousness is hiding in.

His bones ache - but as not as much as they have been.  He’s still cold and hot at the same time, but the changes in temperature are not hitting him in waves.  His jaw doesn’t ache from trying to stop his teeth from chattering.  The mother of all headaches is still lurking behind his eyes, making him squint.  But his stomach’s finally settled.  And for the first time in days he isn’t wishing someone would knock him out cold.

He’s starting to feel human again.  _Finally_.  So what’s wrong?

Stringing more than a few thoughts together turns out to be very tiring.  More tiring than his sick body can stand.  His eyes droop closed again.  Giving in to the inevitable he pulls the duvet up higher and drifts back to sleep.

_I’m being watched._

The thought jolts him back to wakefulness.  Blinking, he tries to focus.  It’s later he guesses, much later: the room’s hidden in darkness, no sunlight at all is creeping around the blinds.

“Danny?  You awake?”

The voice is so soft it takes him a moment to recognise it.  Staring into the darkness, he picks out the shapes of Tani and Junior standing in the doorway. Recognition brings with it a slew of questions. 

“Hold on,” Tani continues, before he can answer.  There’s shuffling and the hallway light comes on. 

Danny groans; his headache doesn’t like being in the spotlight.  Shading his eyes with his hand makes it bearable.  Gradually everything comes into focus.  Tani and Junior are obviously worried.  They both smile though when he waggles his fingers at them.

Licking his lips, he clears his throat.  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m always happy to see you.  But why are you in my house?” 

Both of them suddenly look guilty.  Junior pulls his shoulders back, like he’s about to stand to attention.  It would be funny, Danny thinks, if only his body didn’t ache so much.  “Don’t, please,” he pleads, waving his hand again.  “You’ll make me laugh.  And trust me, that’s gonna hurt.”

Junior relaxes his shoulders.  Marginally.  “Commander--.  _Steve_ ,” he corrects, when Tani nudges him, “he called last night, said you weren’t feeling too good.  Thought we’d come over and see if he needed any help.”

Danny parses that statement.  There are several things he knows he should be asking but his brain won’t co-operate.  There’s one thing that’s really bugging him though.  “Why are we whispering?”

Tani shares another worried glance with Junior.  “Steve’s asleep.”

_Steve._

Danny stares at them both, trying to read their expressions.   There’s something he’s missing, something obvious. The cogs in his brain are moving but they’re rusty.  One by one they click into place.  Then it hits him what’s been wrong ever since he woke up.  It’s not his actual body that’s the problem.  The issue is there’s something on top of the duvet, draped over his hips.  He’s not pinned down, it’s not that heavy.  But it’s enough for his body to dip into the mattress.

He’s lying on his side so he can’t see behind him.  But a quick glance down the duvet identities the issue.

He locks gazes with Junior and Tani, daring them to look away.  Once he’s sure he has their attention he takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly.  “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?”

 Tani and Junior share a very confused glance.

“Steve,” Danny says, looking down the duvet again, at the familiar tanned arm with a heavily inked bicep that is currently curled over his body.  “Someone want to tell me why Steve is in my bed instead of Grace’s?”

Tani’s eyes are darting from the bed and back to Junior again.  Gradually understanding is dawning: Danny can tell by the way she’s not trying to laugh.

Junior just looks perplexed.  “He just came in here…I didn’t think.”  He swallows, tries again.  “He’s got a fever, he probably wasn’t thinking straight.”

“ _He_ wasn’t thinking straight?”

Junior glares at Tani.  He looks like a puppy that’s just been kicked.  Turning back to Danny, he straightens his shoulders again.  “I’m sorry.  He's always over here. I figured...maybe I assumed something I shouldn’t have,” he says, his voice laced with misery.  “If you want, we’ll help him move next—”

Danny waves him to silence. It’s not in his nature to be cruel. He yawns: it’s not all for show.  “I’m guessing it’s late, huh?” he asks, studying them both again.  “I’m also guessing you’re not gonna go home?  Okay,” he continues as they answer with matching nods, “unless one of you wants to come in here with me, I’ll stay in here with this big lug.  You can have Grace and Charlie’s beds.”

The idea of Junior fitting in Charlie’s racing car bed (he’s pretty sure Junior won’t be able to resist) puts a smile on his face as Junior and Tani say goodnight.  The hallway light goes out and their footsteps fade away.  He listens until silence falls over the house.

There’s a fresh supply of aspirin and water on the bedside cabinet.  He swallows both.  Settling back down in the bed, he stretches.  Unused muscles twinge.  When he groans the arm draped over him tightens its grip.

“I know you were listening,” he admonishes, gently.  “Go back to sleep.”  

Behind him, Steve’s breathing hitches.  There’s a pause, it seems to go on forever.  Then he exhales again, his breathing quickly smoothing out into sleep. 

Danny closes his eyes and listens.  _This should be weird_ crosses his mind, briefly.  But it is only brief: his body is already copying Steve’s breathing pattern, his internal rhythms staring to slow.  Eventually it’s just the last pinprick of consciousness keeping him tethered to wakefulness.  There’s a niggling thought hanging over him, the knowledge that tomorrow he and Steve are gonna have to have _that_ talk, the one that’s a been a long time coming.  Then again, maybe they can delay it a few days, he thinks vaguely, as his body twinges again.  Neither of them are going to feel like talking until they’ve kicked this flu bug.   

Behind him, Steve shifts restlessly.  Mumbling, he rolls over, leaving a gap between them as he settles on the other side of the bed.  Danny hesitates but it’s only for a split second: there’s really no decision to be made.   He does what he’s been doing for years now; he follows, mirroring Steve’s previous position, tucking in behind him, laying his arm across Steve’s waist. 

Danny’s heart sinks as the heat of Steve’s body registers against his flesh.  Steve’s definitely running a fever, it hadn’t been his imagination earlier in the day.  Maybe this really _isn’t_ what Steve wants, his conscience taunts him.  Perhaps Junior was right, Steve didn’t know what he was doing when he got into bed. 

Danny tenses, wracked with tiredness and indecision.  He’s on the verge of shifting back, making a space between them when the choice is taken out of his hands.  Steve’s arm snakes around his, pining him in tightly against his waist.  Snuffling into his pillow, Steve goes back to sleep.

Inwardly, Danny shakes his head at what’s happening.  Outwardly he allows himself a smile.  Closing his eyes, he pulls the duvet back up.  It appears that neither of them are going anywhere any time soon.  He’s got no problem with that.

The End.


End file.
